


Victory of the Falcon Queen

by Nessa_Hathor



Category: The Tudors (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 19:26:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17987204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nessa_Hathor/pseuds/Nessa_Hathor
Summary: The end is coming. Henry's body fails him, and all he can do is think over his past as he waits for Death to come. But, suddenly, someone comes back to confront him and shows the future won't go as he hoped.





	Victory of the Falcon Queen

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Tudors, and I’m not responsible for the creation of the characters that appear on the show.
> 
> I’ve also posted this on Fanfiction.net, besides Archives Of Our Own. I’ve decided to post my stories on other sites, to spread them further, hoping more people will enjoy them.

Death stalked him, this he knew very well. By the pall hanging over his apartments, the smell of poultices, the murmurings of the men filling the room around him…waiting with bated breath for his life to finally leave his body, and use his young son as mere puppet for their whims. The thought angered him, as did the fact he was dying too early, in his mind. Too much to do, yet his body had given up before he reached all of the goals he had set in his life. To him, his mind was still young and his body kept growing older and decaying, despite his attempts to stave off old age. His meddling with herbs and the like were means to maintain his youth, secretly. Nothing he made worked. Not to maintain his youth, nor to keep his health from fading, his strength to leave his limbs, the ulcer on his leg from spreading and growing. He couldn’t run from Death, his time on Earth was running out.

            His thoughts went to his son, the jewel of his Crown. The light given to him by his beloved wife, Jane Seymour. She, alone, had fulfilled the promise, when all others had failed. And God had taken her as consequence of the gift He had granted England. Despite his love for Jane, he considered it was just trade. Life for life, he supposed. He maintained the illusion of love for his wife. Perhaps he had loved her, long ago. He certainly had mourned her deeply. But life went on. And so did he.

            How did it all come to this? He thought angrily. He had so much to accomplish yet! His son, his only son was nowhere near adulthood. He would have to rely on the Regency Council for governing England, and who knew what these men, who professed their loyalty and love for their King, would lead England to. Would they rule wisely, speaking sage counsel and making sure the country is well run and corruption is kept at a minimum? Or would they succumb to greed, making Edward dance attendance to their whims, instead of assuring his welfare and that of his subjects? He couldn’t hazard a guess. His son would have to learn on his own, he mourned, and see who had his rights to heart and who would rather put gold in their pockets. When Henry had ascended to the throne, he had Wolsey to protect and serve him. Yes, the cleric had been self-serving, he couldn’t deny. However, Wolsey had been there all his life and, despite his greed, he served his King faithfully. Henry had turned a blind eye to his Chancellor’s misdeeds, for, in the greater picture, he had been relentless in his pursuit of serving his King and country. Wolsey, More and Cromwell…men who he had trusted deeply and were betrayed or had stuck to their beliefs so fiercely, they greeted Death cheerfully, like an old friend.

            Wandering around his memories, several faces surfaced, against his will. Catherine of Aragon. Anne Boleyn. Anne of Cleves. Catherine Howard. The woman of Cleves and Lady Latimer, his last wife, were the lucky ones. People thought rumours never reached him, but he heard them all. Pretending…he had pretended a lot. He loved More and Wolsey, yet he allowed others to bring them down. Catherine of Aragon had been his first love, yet he allowed Anne to supplant her. He knew very well Anne had never betrayed him, but for the sake of having a son, and some peace of mind from her shrill voice, he allowed the Seymours to bring her to the scaffold. Catherine Howard…he sincerely hoped she would be truthful to him, despite not being the “unsullied rose” he had called her. Also, the fact both Edward Seymour and his own best friend, Charles, had arranged her presence in the court at the time of the disappointment with the Cleves woman, hadn’t gone unnoticed. He felt betrayed. Anne of Cleves had been more than what she had first shown. But he couldn’t show weakness, he couldn’t show he had been wrong. So he set his eyes on the Lady Latimer. Another unwilling bride. Enamoured with the younger Seymour, who sought her riches as much as the woman herself. But as King, it was his prerogative to take whoever tickled his fancy as his wife. She was a satisfactory wife, not the best due to the lack of sons. Maybe she was barren. He had ignored her lack of progeny from her previous husbands. So, if she hadn’t given him a son, he used her to play around with the factions of his court. Lacking past times, as his body began to fail and left him unable to pursue his favoured sports, like archery and hunting, he had turned to setting up people, like Cranmer against Gardiner, and watching them fearfully wait for the end. It amused him terribly. But Gardiner had run out of usefulness and was eventually kicked out of court for his pains. The thought of not being able to accomplish all of his plans, of leaving his son as King too early, rankled Henry. His mind raced while his body laid on the bed, dying, under the eager eyes of the jackals of his court. Suddenly, he opened his eyes. All was the same, but not. His body felt lighter, healthier. He rose his hands above him and stared. They were coloured, as when in his youth, for spending his time under the sunlight, not chubby from the time he spent eating. Rising, he realised his body had been restored. It was a miracle!

            “You shouldn’t celebrate.” The voice cutting through the still air shook him to the core. It was too familiar.

            No…

            “Oh Henry…” Giggling echoed through the air and he rose from the bed, following the sound out to the adjacent chamber, where he often received diplomats and hosted informal council meetings. By the fireplace, in a glorious crimson red gown, richly embroidered in gold thread, stood Anne Boleyn, his second wife. The first woman he consigned to death for perceived treason. Her face was bright and cheerful, as it had been in the time he had first met her, long ago. Before care and fear took over her life.

            “What are you doing here?” He managed to stutter. “You’re-“

            “Dead?” She finished for him, wicked smile upon her beautiful face. “I am. But this is not the realm of the Living. You’re at the Cross Roads, between life and death.”

            “You’re lying.” He barked, but his words held little bite in them, for doubt dulled their sharpness. He had been dying, then recovered miraculously. Or had he?

            “Were you still in the land of the living, you wouldn’t see me.” She spread her arms, twirling around for his sake. “I’m here, because you’re here.”

            “And what is your purpose?” He asked, suspicious. “Are you to lead me to Hell?” Anne burst out laughing outright.

            “Ah, dear Henry.” She spoke between bouts of laughter. “You’re so sure you’re going to Hell, you’ll miss your dear wives.” He stared at her in disbelief. “Yes, my dear, we are all together on the other side. Mind you, I cannot disclose much of what you will find, but I can tell you enough.”

            “You can’t mean-“

            “Oh, but I can.” Her look was one of amused gloating. “Both Catherines, your precious Jane and I have been keeping each other company for quite some time.” He felt his blood chill at the thought of his dead wives colluding. Her laughter rang all around him, again. “Are you afraid, dearest Hal? Afraid of what we’ve shared among ourselves, of how you wronged each one of us?”

            “You’re at fault here, too!” He bellowed, thinking of how she had shunned and insulted Catherine of Aragon, his first wife, and Mary, his oldest daughter. How they had hated Anne, and she had hated them in return.

            “Yes, you’re right.” Her voice was steady, bearing her guilt with pride. “Unlike you, I have sought to correct my wrongs, even if I tried to gain something in return, of course. Like when I offered to reconcile Mary to you, but she refused. I did my best. And Catherine and I have put our differences aside.” She looked at him straight in his eyes. “As I did with Jane.” His body grew cold, tendrils of fear rising in his soul. He feared what these women would be sharing in death.

            “What do you want?” He snapped, feeling sort of trapped. _Either return me to my body or let me die already!_ He yelled in his mind.

            “So eager to leave?” She giggled. “Oh my, this will no do.”

            “What do you want?” He asked, between gritted teeth. Her cheerful countenance aggravated him further, and he had a hard time keeping his temper in check.

            “Ah, there is the famous Tudor temper.” She giggled again. “As you have gotten older, you’ve been having a hard time controlling it. Poor Catherine took the brunt of it. Dear Anne was lucky enough to have escaped it.” She twirled her fingers as she counted the lucky and unlucky of the wives. “Lady Latimer and Lady Anne are the lucky ones, to have survived you.”

            “Anne is as ugly as a horse’s backside.” Henry snapped, unkindly. Anne Boleyn’s demeanour fell, her cheerful expression replaced by one of irritated sadness.

            “And you?” She snapped back. “You, who were the most handsome and wealthy prince of Christendom, are nothing more than an old, ailing man, who plays at beauty and pretends he’s still rich and desirable, surrounds himself with younger and handsome men and pretend he’s still at his prime.” Her offensive words struck at him, like arrows shot on the battlefield by an enemy archer. “The spring has passed, you reached the winter of your life. I met you in the spring turning summer, but you reached the autumn during our marriage. Jane was lucky to catch some of the warm winds of the late summer during her brief life, yet Anne took the brunt of the autumn with you. So did both Catherine Howard and Lady Latimer. With them, you became winter. Cold and unmoving, unyielding. Unkind.” Henry tried his hard to close his ears to her words, but in his heart, it all resonated and wounded him. For they were true and he desperately wanted the contrary. He slumped in his seat, obviously taken down by her words.

            “What do you want?” He asked, soft voice, having lost the will to fight. “Are you here to berate me for the life I had and the lives lost by my hand and whim?” Anne appeared in his field of vision, her dress pooled around her as she knelt to look him in the eye.

            “None of that, but it will be hard on you still.” She spoke softly, gently. It stunned Henry how…happy and relaxed she looked. As it did in the early days of courting. “I have come to show you what is to come, when you die.”

            “For what?” He frowned, wondering if this was meant to change anything.

            “No, simply to show you the future. You are too close to death to be able to change the outcome.”

            “Whatever would that achieve?” He asked, bewildered.

            “Oh, nothing other than discuss the potential events you will miss.” The answer was vague, giving Henry the impression there was more to it than only ‘seeing’ what he’ll miss, but he dismissed it as nothing of value. Then her façade fell slightly. “Did you regret it?” She asked, her voice almost inaudible. Henry was taken aback by the question.

            “Regret what?” He was confused as to what she referred to.

            “Sending me to my early grave.” Her words were blunt, her eyes shining with sadness. “So you could put Jane on the throne.” He touched the one topic he wished to remain untouched. He didn’t like having to explain his reasons to anyone; after all, he is King.

            “It was necessary.” The reply was spoken through gritted teeth. “I needed an heir, and you were not going to give me one.” His accusation hit the mark, for Anne’s eyes narrowed, and her blue eyes became ice at the mention of the loses she suffered in life.

            “We’re not to blame for the dead children.” Anne defended, coldly. “How can you even accuse us of that, when we’re the ones who carried them, who nurtured them as best as we could?” She sighed. “We mourned them greatly, for it tore at our hearts and souls for each loss.”

            “Jane gave me my son.” He pointed out.

            “And died for his sake.” Anne retorted harshly.

            “At least she fulfilled her duty.” He snapped, then shut up. Anne grinned grimly.

            “Of course, dear Jane.” Anne said sweetly. “Not even an anointed Queen. Like Catherine and I.”

            “Catherine hates you.” Henry tried to needle her, to no avail.

            “Death has a peculiar way of bringing souls together.” Was all he managed to get out of her. She brightened considerably as the topic was closed. “So, shall we move on? There is still things to see and discuss, and you don’t have that much time.” She gestured to the hourglass on the table. He hadn’t seen it until that moment. It was a large sand hourglass, gilded with gold and intricate, mesmerising patterns. The sand fell slowly, and some already pilled at the bottom.

            “What does it mean?”

            “This indicates the time you have until Death comes for your soul.” He blinked, then rubbed his eyes and squinted. Anne watched on with amusement. Behind her, he could make out something…a silhouette. Or was it a play of lights? “We should really get on with this.” She brought him out of his thoughts.

            “What are we going to do?”

            “I’m going to show you what will come to pass. Things you wished wouldn’t happen.” She grinned. “How your trust in the wrong people will bring about my victory, in the end.” He scowled.

            “All of those I trust will continue to work in my son’s behalf.” He defended, angered by her continuous needling. He was right, as he had always been. No one but God could say otherwise.

            “You believe those you trust will have his welfare in mind? Even your brothers-in-law?” She laughed, amused. “How naïve of you, Hal.”

            “I do, for those who I distrust have been put to death already.” He snapped, calling to attention, albeit indirectly, her own demise.

            “Oh?” She asked, amused. Nothing he said seemed to upset or bring her down. Indeed, her whole being shone with the happiness he had fallen for the first times he had ever seen her. Back then…how the time had flown. “But you think your brothers-in-law will work in your son’s behalf with his wellbeing in mind? With the wellbeing of your country in mind?” She burst out laughing, hands holding her belly as if trying to keep herself from coming apart. He looked on, bewildered by her reaction.

            “They do.” He deadpanned, but her reaction really had created a speck of doubt in him. The laughter subsided eventually.

            “How mistaken you are.” She shook her head, the beautiful locks of hair swaying with her movements. He tried hard not to allow himself to be bewitched, once again, by the gypsy-like beauty. “Let me show you.” She waved her hands and took him to a place in the future.

            _He watched as the men who were his council, gathered in his chambers. From where they stood, he could see his body, laying forgotten, while the men discussed among themselves._

_“The King’s will speaks of a Regency Council, but no Lord Protector.” Sir Edward Montague said, reading the document he had reviewed recently. At first, he had thought of leaving Catherine Parr, his Queen, as Regent to his son, but later decided against it. She had excelled in his stead, but post-death would be an entire different story. Henry looked to his brother-in-law, Edward, who looked absolutely riotous, tense jaw and hardened eyes._

_“Does he speak of me?” Edward asked harshly. Montague shook his head, Wriothesley reading the document over Montague’s shoulder._

_“His Majesty had no desire to name a Regent or a Lord Protector.” Wriothesley confirmed. “He discussed it briefly with me, recently, as he decided to change his will again. He felt it would be proper if Prince Edward was advised by a Council, rather than have him as a puppet.” All eyes shifted to the eldest Seymour. “He felt better having a Council rather than leaving Queen Katherine as his Regent, as he had planned when he left for the siege of Boulogne.”_

_“What would take for us to change the will?” He went right to the point._

_“My lord!” Montague growled, indignant. “I am against any unlawful change of His Majesty’s will! Seeing it as we are, without the rest of the Council present is as far as I’ll go!” Offended by the suggestion, he rolled the document and was about to put it back, when Seymour ripped it out of his hands._

_“I will not allow this to go the way it is written!” He barked, furious. “Prince Edward is my nephew and I won’t allow anyone to use him!” Wriothesley looked unsettled. He had been expecting this from the Earl of Hertford._

_“So what do you want, my lord?” He spoke dryly. “You want to use him for your own?”_

_“He is my nephew!” Edward defended himself a little too forcefully. “I won’t allow any slander against my family to go unpunished, Lord Chancellor.” His threat didn’t go unnoticed. He turned to Anthony Denny, who held the King’s seal. “We will change it, write in the choice of Lord Protector –which will be me – and the rest of the Council. I will elevate and reward you for this service to our country.” Henry was aghast. How could his brother-in-law so blatantly ignore his will?_

“They care little about what you want, Hal.” _Anne’s voice echoed in his ears, above the hubbub of the men discussing the details of the will and proper rewards to those supporting the change._ “You’re dead, so all you worked for will be erased. Let’s move on.” _The scenery changed. It was a bedchamber, and, on the great bed, he could see his son, Edward, sleeping soundly. He looked older, but pale. He reminded Henry of his mother, Jane. One of his hounds slept on the bed, at his feet. The room was lit by the little moonlight crossing the windows. Henry smiled fondly, seeing his grown son sleeping so soundly and safe. But, a breaking noise called his attention to the door, to see it opening slowly and silently. Thomas Seymour crept into the room, a gun in his hand. Henry felt his blood go cold at the sudden thought of_ He’s going to kill him! _He looked at Anne, who watched serenely, before turning his eyes back to his former brother-in-law. Thomas snuck to the bed, but before he could reach his nephew, the spaniel on the bed woke up in alarm, feeling the odd presence in the room. Before Thomas could do anything, the dog barked loud in warning, waking Edward and calling attention to the intruder. The dog was shot by Thomas, but it was too late. The noise woke up the guards and brought the older Seymour to the room._

_“Thomas?” Edward asked, confused. Upon seeing the scene, the dead dog and the gun in his brother’s hand, he grew pale. “Arrest him!” The guards jumped to obey, pulling the gun out of Thomas’s grasp and immobilizing him. “Why, brother?” Edward asked, half grieving, half angry._

_“I should be the one to rule!” Thomas snarled. “You deserve nothing, Edward, nothing!” The younger boy watched, in fear, huddled as far away on the bed as possible, the other dogs protecting him from the intruder._

_“This is too much, brother.” Edward replied gruffly. “Take him, we’ll deal with this in the morning.” The guards had to physically drag the man out, Thomas’s voice being heard as he was dragged to the dungeons, always defending himself and demanding his rightful place. Older Edward sighed, before turning to his nephew and calming both dogs and boy._

“Your Seymour brothers-in-law are quite the handful, wouldn’t you say?” Anne teased, while Henry scowled.

            “I thought well of them.” Henry grumbled under his breath. “Apparently, they are like all others.”

            “Jane did tell me they were ambitious, but after her wedding, it became impossible to handle either of them.” Anne confessed, smoothing her skirts as she rose to her feet. He hadn’t realised, they had been sitting at the table together. “Edward is a hardworking man, but his ambition increased as he aged. Now you see how it will be.”

            “Isn’t there anything I can do?” He begged, sliding from the chair to kneel at Anne’s feet, his hands holding her hips. To hold her…he realised having her near brought out the love he had fought to forget. Even as he had hated her, he had equally loved her. Her eyes softened.

            “Nay, Henry, there is naught you can do at this point, other than watch.” Anne spoke gently, but nothing would soothe him.

            “What of my son?” His voice was hoarse, from the grief he felt for not being able to protect and guide Edward and feeling betrayed by those he would leave to guide his son in his stead.

            “He’ll die young.” She didn’t mince words, throwing the truth as if it were nothing, as if it carried no weight. But, to Henry, it was as if a boulder had fallen and crushed him. And his hope. “His uncle will struggle to keep his hold over the council, and will, in the end, be betrayed by them. His own nephew won’t hold much affection for either him or his wife. They desired power and riches above anything else. Anne will even seize the Queen’s Jewels and Lady Latimer’s own collection for her own use, when she has no right to them, as mere Duchess.” Anne Boleyn lamented, sighing deeply. “After Edward’s untimely demise, his Council will attempt to keep Mary from reaching the throne, and fail miserably.”

            “Whatever for?” Henry asked, confused.

            “Fear.” She replied, grim expression on her face. “They fear she’ll undo what Edward and you worked for, in terms of religion and the like. But the support she had from both nobility and peasants alike will end up ruining their chances.” She clenched her fists. “People will die for this. As they did in your time.” She looked up to the ceiling.

            “Those who go against their sovereign are traitors.” Henry pointed out, to which Anne gave him an angered look.

            “Traitors?” She shot back. “Are they traitors for wanting to keep England from falling into the Emperor’s hands?” She nearly growled out, but maintained her voice stable.

            “She will never-“ He stopped himself, knowing what he was about to say was a lie. Both Catherine and Mary had always relied on Chapuys and, also, on the Emperor for support. As Queen, of course she would turn to the Spaniards for guidance. The thought of the Inquisition in England made him pale. “Will she…?” He couldn’t say the words out loud. They were too painful, he didn’t want to believe Mary to be capable of use barbarity. But she was a Roman Catholic at heart.

            “Your daughter never came to that.” Anne assured him, to his relief. “No, I mean something else.” And there she took him to see something that would come to pass, years from then.

            _Mary held the Spanish prince’s hand in a loving manner, an expression of raptured love covered her aged features and creating an odd look, that didn’t suit her. On the other hand, the man could barely contain the disgust and annoyance at his wife. It was clear, to Henry, while his daughter Mary loved the man deeply, the feeling was one-sided. Philip hadn’t married for love, but for the power and the potential empire he could create if the marriage was successful, and by his father’s orders. Their offspring would rule, causing England to become a part of the Empire, and the needs and desires of their people becoming secondary to the needs of the Empire. Henry found it despicable and it angered him to see his beloved country, and the throne his father had won with tremendous sacrifice, in the hands of his foolish daughter and her Spaniard husband._

            “That’s not the only thing that will happen.” _Anne warned him, as the scene unfolded right in front of his eyes. Norfolk, aged and pardoned after a long stay in the Tower, stood nearby, as did many of the Catholic nobles who had hidden through his son’s reign, as did Stephen Gardiner, his old bishop. No longer fearing persecution for their beliefs, they came out of hiding, salivating at the prospect of loot. Once, they were hunted for being Catholics. Now…_

_“I wish to assure my loving subjects, that they will not be required to go against their conscience.” She announced, her voice strangely strong in contrast to her appearance. “They will be left to worship as they will.” He was stunned by this. “My husband, Prince Philip, will be known as King of England.” The nobles were quick to protest, in the presence of the man himself._

_“Your Majesty, you are the queen regnant!” Norfolk was the leading voice against this elevation of a foreign to the supreme title of King. “He is foreign, therefore, his allegiance is doubtful, at best.” The Spanish Ambassador stood near his prince, translating everything the nobles said. They weren’t happy for having a consort who wouldn’t speak their language, and now their queen wished for him to ascend the throne of a country he knew close to nothing about and cared even less about the subjects._

_“Precisely the point, Lord Norfolk, I am Queen, and I wish to celebrate my marriage and gift my husband with the title suitable for my consort.”_

_“Then name him Prince Consort!” One of the nobles yelled from the back of the room, igniting the crowd’s displeasure and setting the room aflame with the buzzing of the men’s crossed arguments._

_“I will do no such thing!” She snapped, raising to her feet and silencing the room immediately. Stephen Gardiner stepped forward and bowed deeply._

_“My Queen, you know we respect and love you as our Queen.” He began, his grating voice irritated Henry to no end. How was the man alive after spending so long in the Tower? “You repudiated Englishmen as potential consort, for the hand of a foreigner. Now you wish to elevate him even above yourself. Please, at least let us discuss this thoroughly. A compromise may be reached through careful conversation.” Appeased, Mary sat back on her throne and regained possession of the hand she had held before her explosion._

_“Very well, my lord bishop.” She acceded, smiling joyously. “Let us discuss my lord husband’s titles, so that the Emperor sees we rejoice and value the alliance brought by this happy union.” She smiled in her husband’s direction, only to be met by a glare of deep annoyance._

“You see, her husband barely tolerates her.” _Anne spoke softly._ “The Hapsburgs only cared for the throne, never for your daughter. She rejected good Englishmen, who would’ve served well with a lesser title, for a title thirsting man.” _He watched then haggle the title and the power granted to this foreigner who would sit on his throne, with his daughter at his side, and how they managed to grant the title of King, but maintain the true power in Mary’s grasp, blocking Philip from truly ruling without Mary’s consent._ _But, he saw the scene change. Philip argued with several men of the Queen’s Council and members of the Parliament._

_“It is a necessary thing!” He growled in French, angry at the unmoving men sitting at the table and for not being able to express himself well in their mother tongue._

_“We heard nothing of the sort from the Queen herself.” Norfolk spoke, obviously annoyed but carefully maintaining a semblance of respect to the King of England, even though the true power remained in Mary’s hands. Philip gritted his teeth, his temper flaring._

_“My wife and I have discussed this extensively.” He justified lamely. Bishop Gardiner’s frowned, while Norfolk and Courtenay look at his in disbelief. “It is our desire to bring England back to the flock of the faithful, as the true children of God gather around the Holy See.”_

_“So, you want us to go back to the jurisdiction of Rome?” Courtenay deadpanned. Philip simply glared at the man for the disrespectful tone he used._

_“This means you want the abbeys and monasteries restored?” Anthony Grey, a newly appointed Councillor, asked, which brought about another round of angry rebuffs from his fellow nobles. Most of the noble families, of both faiths, had been allowed to purchase the lands and even buildings taken by the Crown from the Church, and no one in their right mind would relinquish these lands back to the Holy See, without rousing displeasure among the noble ranks._

_“Perhaps a compromise can be reached.” Philip spoke, trying to go around the subject. But no one else would allow that._

_“You do realise, Your Majesty, it will be seen as an act against the nobles to expropriate them of rightly bought lands for the sake of returning to the ‘flock of the righteous’. No one in their right mind will support you in those conditions.”_

_“Those lands belong to the Church.” He growled._

_“No, my lord.” Anthony intervened calmly. “They are no longer holy places. Simply, they are earthly abodes or lands better used for agriculture. To take them away from their rightful owners will not win anyone to your side.” Norfolk nodded while Gardiner scratched his chin, in deep thought._

_“I’m not against this, Your Majesty.” Gardiner spoke gently, but slowly, as he tried to put his thoughts into words. “You’ll have a harder time convincing Parliament. A suitable deal must be reached, at the same time, keeping those who support us happy.” Several of the Councillors agreed with this._

_“This should be the last topic approached. However, returning to the allegiance of Rome will take time to reach a consensus.” Anthony and other Councillors weren’t as sure of this course of action._

_“Are you certain this is right?” He asked, voicing their doubts. “After all, Her Majesty gave her subjects the right to worship as they will. To go back to Rome’s jurisdiction will mean the subjects will have to recant and go back to Catholicism, or else they will be considered heretics.”_

_“As they very well should be!” Philip bellowed, slamming his fist on the table. “We will not go back for fear of displeasing peasants. There is only one true religion. Everything else is madness and heresy. Do you propose to allow the Turks to pray as they want in our lands, bringing their own form of heresy to our kingdoms? No. This is the rightful path, to cleanse the land of the sinful and unbelievers.”_

_“We will tear down all that King Henry and King Edward have build.” Someone warned, causing people to exchange nervous looks and words that Philip couldn’t understand, which angered him further._

_“They were heretics and it will not be tolerated here.” Philip countermanded. “A new era has arrived. England’s faithful will return to the flock of the true believers and the demonic heretics shall burn for spreading sin. Only then will the land be at peace and will God smile upon us.”_

“Charles’s bastard son wants to destroy all I fought for?” Henry growled. “He wants to destroy my work, and everything my son will work for!” He turned to Anne as they returned to the privy room. Anne seemed unmoved.

            “Of course.” She said simply. “Mary has always been faithful to Rome and to the Pope. Did you ever doubt Philip wouldn’t try to persuade her to return England to Rome?” Anne sighed, saddened. “Because of that, many will die. More than you think. All of them for not recanting and returning to Catholicism. Even Cranmer, who recanted but Mary couldn’t forgive him for declaring your marriage to Catherine void, and ours valid. She couldn’t forgive him for that, and used his faith as excuse to burn him at the stake.” Henry regretted the waste of life, of both the past and the future. He had always deemed necessary to eliminate the obstacles in his path, but that doesn’t mean he hadn’t mourned the men he sacrificed.

            “No matter what, I cannot come up with an excuse for the folly of my daughter’s actions…” He lamented, head in his hands. So much death at her hands…

            “You reigned long, so the deaths your ordered will not be really noted, other than those well known cases, such as More, Wolsey, myself.” Anne told him. “Mary’s reign will not be as long, such acts will be more pronounced.” Henry shook his head, not wanting to believe her words. Wishing them not to be true. “You have yet to realise…”She began, her face lighting up in a manner that was not gloating, but conveyed victory, calling attention to her. Henry looked up to her, to see Anne Boleyn standing proud and shinning with happiness. “My daughter, the one you _deemed_ unfit for ever ruling England, after my death, will be the bringer of a Golden Age. And she’s the last of the Tudor dynasty.” He felt conflicted. His little Elizabeth, who he loved dearly but couldn’t face completely, for feeling guilty of his treatment towards her in her childhood, after sentencing her mother to death, telling others he doubted his paternity, casting doubt over her true sire. But, of all his children, Elizabeth was the most like him. Her curse was the beauty inherited from her mother. He watched the scene unfold:

            _Elizabeth, fair and grown and standing proudly at the door of the palace, her ladies at her back, silent and beaming with pride. They had hoped, prayed for the day to come. And it had. Riders, bearing the royal flag, approached the palace at full speed, stopping shortly from her and her entourage. All men dismounted, but only one walked up to Elizabeth and, silently, handed her a letter and a signet ring. Then, he backed away, never turning his back on her. She dared not open the letter, but she recognised the ring. Mary’s ring. The man, upon reaching the group, spoke loud and clear, for all to hear._

_“The Queen is dead!” He announced, in a booming voice. “Long live the Queen!” With that, all present bowed to Elizabeth who, at that moment felt as if God’s blessings had just descended upon her._

_Her time had come._

_She was Queen of England!_   

            “You strove all your life to sire a boy, tearing down the country and all those who have ever loved you for this simple objective.” Anne grinned, mischievously, as they returned to the room after seeing Elizabeth’s elated and relieved face upon being declared Queen. “And, yet, the one who accomplish great things will be the one you least expect. Your legacy will endure through _MY_ daughter, my Elizabeth!”

            “It can’t be! Edward is supposed to continue my bloodline!” Henry yelled, or tried to. His throat failed midsentence. He realised his time was nearing the end and he was slowly returning to reality.

            “He won’t be able to accomplish the goals you set for him. Nor will Mary, who will strive to return England to bondage.” She gloated. “No, my daughter will. And she will be the end of YOUR dynasty.” Anne’s victorious smile illuminated the room. “And you said it yourself, to Lady Bryant, once.”

            _He had gone to visit Elizabeth at Hatfield, briefly as he passed by to a meeting with Lords in a nearby castle. Lady Bryant looked on with pride, as Henry held Elizabeth with all the care and love as he could muster._

_“Who knows, Lady Bryant, perhaps one day, this little girl will preside over empires.”_

            “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-“ Henry screamed, trying to reach Anne and dispel the curse, only to choke and gurgle, as the last remnants of the sand in the gilded hourglass fell to the bottom, he was returned to his ailing and frail body. The men crowding his chambers ran to his bedside, calling out for the doctors to attend the king. He tried to speak, but his throat wouldn’t work and his lungs struggled to work. He gurgled and spun his eyes around wildly, body twitching in an attempt to regain a modicum of control over his limbs. He spotted, in one dark corner, the glorious ghost of Anne, and, at her back, a dark cloaked figure, with two glowing eyes set on him. He knew the end had come, and Death was there for him, with Anne watching. And, as he felt his life draining away, he saw the glowing exultant expression adorning the face he had loved for long, of whom he tore his country apart, destroyed many lives. For whom he had severed the connection to the Holy See in order to give her matrimony and the Queen’s crown. Despite having fallen out of favour and ending up headless for perceived (and possibly fabricated) tales of betrayal of the King’s trust and love, it was her victory, for it was her bloodline who would bring about the Golden Age to England, and, at the same time, the end of the Tudor dynasty. His vision faded, and the last thing he heard, echoing all around in a victorious tone, were Anne’s two last words.

            _I won!_


End file.
